At the office, Romeo delegated all the meetings for the day to his colleague Audrey and begged her not to bother him for any reason. He was not in the mood to hear stories of unemployed axmen and would-be mandolin tuners. That morning's encounter had already tested him enough. He felt it would take very little, even just a small, innocent oddity, to make him burst like a kernel of corn in a microwave oven.

"So... for no specific reason?" she asked.

"None at all!" Romeo answered, offsetting her doubts.

"Not even if Mr. Watson asks specifically for you?"

"Especially not then."

"Not even if you're wanted by the Department of Labor?"

"Not even then!"

"What if there's a fire?" she insisted, trying to gauge the boundaries of his instruction. "May I bother you then?"

"No, Audrey! I don't want to be bothered, even if we had to evacuate the building for a gas leak."

"...and if we're threatened by a falling asteroid? In that case no one would survive!"

"I SAID NEVER AND FOR NO ONE!" Romeo repeated, raising his voice.

"I get it! You don't want to be bothered at all. You could just say so. There's no need to get so upset," Audrey replied as she returned to her desk, muttering away.

Almost immediately, Romeo regretted his insensitive response.

At the same time, he believed he deserved a little peace and quiet.

As soon as he entered his office, he quickly closed the door behind him, making sure the shutters were still closed and the phone was off the hook. Then, he engaged in three admittedly unfruitful activities: from his window he inspected all the pedestrian crossings in sight, spied on all suspicious cyclists, and kept doodling feathers, scrolls, and hydrants on every possible surface.

He really couldn't share his children's unwarranted euphoria for the situation. On the contrary, he had been trying for hours to soothe the deadly heartburn the circumstances had caused him.

Occasional problems with the postal system were not unusual. He knew that. They happened to many people: some letters never reached their destination, some greeting cards arrived late, retirement checks struggled to be delivered, and some bills were sent to the wrong person. He could understand these mistakes. He was even willing to overlook the complete lack of manners of an atypical postal clerk who shows up in an unbecoming and soiled uniform.

He could not, however, stand the unexplainable appearance and disappearance of the crazy postman who had never been taught that "airmail" doesn't mean dropping packages from the chimney. The thought kept tormenting Romeo like the unbearable itch of an allergic reaction. Who did that madman think he was? One of Santa's elves?

The memory of that smelly oddball provoked a furious resurgence of Romeo's heartburn. Falling exhausted in his chair, he irresponsibly poured some drops of good bourbon into his glass. He had stashed a small bottle in his secret drawer compartment, precisely for such occasions.

His apprehension reminded him of another situation, even if very different – the "Slot Machine Case" – the unexplainable robbery at the Gordons', his neighbors across the street.

At that time, a thief had entered the Gordons' residence in the middle of the night and had stolen some precious silverware and valuable paintings, all in complete silence and covering all his tracks. For a week, Mr. Moffet had taken part in the search for the criminal, joining the neighborhood patrol in combing every bush in the area. He had even stood camouflaged in the park and had taken turns with the surveillance of all the homes within three miles of the Gordons.

Finally, to the absolute shock of all the neighbors, they discovered there was never a robber after all. Unbeknown to the family, the stolen goods had been sold by Grandma Gordon who had used the money to finance her Las Vegas vacation.

Remembering those sleepless nights and headaches, Romeo sincerely hoped a plausible explanation would soon emerge even in this case.

He glanced at his watch. Time wasted never passes. Given the odd situation, he decided to slip away a little early through the back door. In his condition, his presence wouldn't have been useful anyhow. He doubted anyone would even notice his empty chair before the next morning.

* * * * * * *

As predicted, his unlawful desertion went totally unnoticed. He managed to get to his timeworn brown Mercedes parked in front of the building without raising the least suspicion.

On the other hand, his drive home was quite uneasy.

Romeo kept turning around, fearing Grimalion would re-emerge before his eyes. He just couldn't get the disappearance of that disquieting man and his bellows out of his mind. Deep in thought, he parked in his driveway without even realizing he was there.

He turned off his noisy vehicle and lingered inside for a few moments, pondering. From the small opening between their malachite-green velvet curtains, he could see the dim light of their living room's table lamps. Apparently, his wife had also decided to come home early to face head-on the uncomfortable matter.

Romeo found Eleanor in front of the fireplace, silent and still.

She looked quite pale. Her wool cardigan was almost down to her feet and some locks of her hair drooped shabbily on her face. She seemed to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"D-dear... How's it going? Are you feeling well?" he asked cautiously, shaking her arm to wake her from her lethargic stupor. "Dear? Can you hear me?" he asked again, alarmed.

Eleanor turned slowly toward her husband and gave him a withering look.

"How's it going? How's it going, you say?" she assaulted him. "How do you think it's going? It's going as when a package falls from the sky and gets stuck, only God knows how, in my chimney. That's how it's going!"

"Please don't get upset!" he continued. "You know it's not good for you. You'll see, everything will work out! We'll find a way to take it out."

"We know how to do it!" Kate and Michael shouted, as they jumped through the window from the garden, with the tool box in their hands.

"Michael has a plan!" Kate announced, thrilled.

Romeo's worries suddenly doubled. His son was a true master of chaos and destruction.

"If you let us use the drill..." said Michael, as he unfolded a large piece of paper on the table, revealing his strategy, "... we can get it in no time. We just have to drill along this wall until we reach the ceiling, and we're done!"

"Drill until we reach the ceiling, you say..." Romeo repeated, doubtfully.

"Exactly!" the boy confirmed.

"Very well..." Eleanor interrupted after hearing the words drill and wall in the same sentence, "while you decide how to destroy my house, I'll gladly go and faint in my armchair!"

"Michael, son... don't get offended, but I don't think it's wise to use a drill in this case," said Romeo, as he imagined his living room turned into a giant colander.

"But it works, I tell you, and if I say it works it does!" howled the boy.

"I don't doubt the effectiveness of your system. I just find it a little extreme. Don't you agree? We can't demolish the living room with a drill... and the same goes for explosives, battering rams, and so on," he added quickly, trying to defuse other dangerous ventures from the start.

"But I thank you for your help, really!" he continued, patting his son on the back and hoping that gesture could divert him from his disastrous ideas.

"It's not fair!" the boy replied, complaining about another missed opportunity to use his father's tools. "It's not fair at all!" Whining, he stomped his feet like an impish child.

"Maybe there's a way to get it without causing any damage!" suggested Peter, who had spent all that time studying the large package.

"What can a dud like you know about these things? You don't even know how to tie your shoes!" Michael laughed.

"Michael! Let your brother speak," Mr. Moffet scolded.

"For crying out loud, Romeo! Do you want to ask a ten-year old?" Eleanor stopped him, with an arrogant tone of voice.

"Actually, I'm twelve," Peter specified.

"Ten... twelve... it doesn't matter. I'm sick and tired of this useless chatter. I'll tell you what to do: we can burn the package, right away. End of story!" Eleanor decreed.

"Cool!" exclaimed Michael, excited at the idea of burning something. "I'm going to get wood and lighter fluid."

"I'm coming too! I'm coming too!" Kate yelled, running after him like a puppy dog.

"But mom, we don't even know what it is! Aren't you a little curious?" Peter asked. "The man said it's an important delivery. Shouldn't we check and see what it is? Or send it back to the sender if we don't want to keep it?"

"In reality..." Romeo timidly suggested, "Peter is not completely wrong. Maybe we should at least return it."

Eleanor compressed her lips together tightly, flashing another one of her terrifying glances.

"So, you think I should trust that nonsensical boozer and let some profiteering handyman drain 200 pounds from my account to take that thing out of my chimney?" she replied, keeping her face a few inches from Peter's. "Is that what you're implying? Did I understand correctly?"

"N-No mam. Nossir, mam. I-I j-just wanted to say it could be something valuable. That's all!" said the boy, frightened as his mother's hostile breath blew up his nose.

"Enough of this nonsense!" snapped Eleanor. "Romeo Aloysius, let's start the blaze!" she ordered.

"Let's all start our happy fire... tra-la-la, tra-la-la... What a joy to build a pyre... tra-la-la-la-la-la-la!" Kate and Michael came back singing, with enough material to fire up a furnace and keep it going for two weeks.

"Alcohol..." said the children, making sure nothing was missing. "Newspaper, sticks... We're all set. Base One is ready to start Operation Megafire!" said Michael with a panting voice while he put on his soldering glasses.

The flames swelled almost immediately under the ecstatic eyes of Eleanor and the two obnoxious siblings, who danced like Sioux Indians in front of the fireplace. It only took a few minutes to completely engulf the package.

"Burn, evil package!" ordered Michael, squirting more alcohol on the grate. "Burn!"

"Very well!" said Mrs. Moffet, clearly pleased. "It looks like the problem is finally solved. Let's go!" she commanded, with a clap of her hands. "Let's all wash up and meet in the kitchen so you can help me set the table. We're eating dinner in exactly fifteen minutes!"

The family, now divided between the unenthusiastic and the satisfied, left the room in silence. Only Michael stayed to observe the hypnotic flames still cheerfully dancing in the fireplace. To him, "Operation Megafire" was not completed. That beautiful blaze could still be put to good use.

He looked around, searching eagerly for other objects to burn. Closing his fingers in the shape of a binocular, he looked through the holes to scan the room for his next victim.

"20 North-East. Inclination axle 45°. One hundred percent zoom. Target in sight!" he said, jumping up euphorically.

Things couldn't have gone any better. Behind the couch, he saw the corner of one of his brother's comic books. He couldn't wait. He could already hear Peter's pitiful, desperate cry at the loss of his collection. He pounced on the pile of comic books hidden behind the couch and grabbed as many as he could, sticking three in his pants, two in his jacket pocket and a couple in his socks.

"That's where you deserve to be!" he said, flinging them into the flames.

"Michaaaaeeel!" his mother's deep voice startled him. "Come on! Come and eat! Dinner is ready."

"Yes, mom, I'm finished. I'm coming!" Michael threw the last comic book into the fire and then, finally gratified, turned to get back to the family. This complicated mission had left him famished.

He had just turned his back to the fireplace, when something hit him on the back.

"Who dares..." He couldn't finish the sentence before something else slapped him on the face. "Ouch!" he yelled. "Ouch!" he repeated when another object struck him on the head and another one on the knee. Peter's comic books, looking brand new as if they had just come off of the printing press, were flying out of the fireplace, shooting in every direction.

Michael hid behind a curtain to retreat from the painful bombardment, but his attempt was not very successful.

"But I saw you burn!" he sobbed, still incredulous, while he crawled to the door. "By now, you should be turned to ashes... Mom! Mom!" he shouted while entering the kitchen, as frantically as one possessed by a devil. "The fireplace went crazy!"

"For heaven's sake, Michael! Stop this nonsense. How can a fireplace go crazy?" replied Eleanor, annoyed.

"I swear! I don't understand... I threw them in the fire... they were burning well... then I turned around and one hit me on the back and then one on the head... and they looked brand new! Don't you understand?" said the boy, trying to explain.

"What are you blabbering about?" said Eleanor, increasingly frustrated. "What did you throw in the fire and what hit you on the back?"

"The fireplace! The fireplace hit me with Peter's comic books!" he kept trying to explain. "Aren't you listening to me?"

"What?" said Peter in shock. "My comic books? You threw my comic books in the fire? I-I..." He was so furious he couldn't speak. He should have been used to his brother's tricks, and yet Michael's evil nature never ceased to surprise him.

The two brothers couldn't be any more different. And not just physically.

Peter was blond, courteous and thoughtful, while Michael was brown-haired, domineering and had a marked propensity to act without thinking too much about it.

Peter himself believed in the hypothesis of the inversion of the cradles.

According to him, when his brother was born, someone had inadvertently switched beds in the hospital and handed the wrong baby to the parents. At the same moment, in another corner of the world, Michael's real father, a descendant of Attila the Hun, was desperately searching for his real son.

"Michael Jeremy Moffet, you know I don't appreciate these type of jokes. This blabber could cost you your new bike!" his mother reproved him.

"You really don't understand, do you?" he said, exhausted. "Come and see for yourselves, and then tell me who's right!"

"Okay!" Romeo finally conceded. "Let's go and punish the aggression of this impertinent fireplace." With his napkin still stuck in his collar, he begrudgingly left the table and the delicious meatloaf surrounded by appetizing vegetables. Apparently, the day still had some surprises in store.

"I can't just imagine to be hit on the head! You'll see..." repeated the son. "I didn't just dream it!"

Arming herself, just in case, with a sturdy rolling pin, Mrs. Moffet led her hungry family back into the living room. She was the first to see it, as it stood royal, majestic, and fearsome in the middle of the room.

"Ro-Ro... Ro-Ro-Ro... Romeo..." The woman stopped abruptly, causing a violent pile-up, then stuttered, "the-the-the-pa-pa-pa-pa- package..." She pointed out the object to her husband. Then, with her eyes opened wide in fright, pressed her back so close to the wall that she almost blended with the wallpaper.

"My stars!" exclaimed Mr. Moffet, astonished. "But what... and who... and how did this thing get here?" He scratched his head, dumbfounded.

"What is it, Dad?" asked Kate, as she hid in fear behind her mother's skirt, her rag-doll in her arms.

"Can't you see, knucklehead?" replied Michael in a scornful tone of voice. "It's a girl-eater!"

"You're not funny, Michael!" his father scolded him.

"Well, if it's not a girl-eater, what is it?" he asked, circling the object.

A titanic, dark wooden artifact, commendably decorated, dominated the center of the room, almost touching the ceiling.

"Don't get too close!" Romeo advised. "We don't know if it's dangerous."

"There's something written under here!" Peter announced, buzzing with excitement.

"Let me see!" said Michael, shoving him with his elbow. "This is not a job for wimps!" Then, lifting his ash-covered goggles, he read the inscription.

Disobedient Magicians wander through a Contrary World

Where time holds ever still and each flag stays unfurled.

Where clocks are all frozen and frozen they shall remain

To keep the secret of the Contrary World and its riches arcane.

Nobilius Alagastor Kroon

"Disobedient Magicians? Contrary World? Whoever wrote this message must be missing a screw!" said Michael.

"That name..." said Mr. Moffet as he grabbed Grimalion's message from his pocket. "Nobilius Kroon... It's the name of our mysterious sender. He's the one who has sent the package!"

"I couldn't care less who sent the package!" Eleanor exploded, having reached the limit of her scant and precarious patience. "I just want to know how to get rid of this abomination!"

"Look!" said Michael, pulling the object closer to him.

"By all the barn owls! It's a pendulum clock!" Dad exclaimed, visibly relieved. "All that anxiety..." he laughed out loud "... for a common clock!" Encouraged and cheered up, he hugged his wife.

"Common my foot!" disagreed Mrs. Moffet. "Have you seen those ornaments? Those engraved monstrosities? And that color... Saint Versace, come to our rescue!"

The ancient pendulum clock, encased in the darkest wood, was hidden behind two massive doors. Its golden hands were long and twisted, and the whole base was thickly decorated with mysterious allegorical images.

"This atrocity must disappear immediately!"

"Must we really give it away?" asked Kate, whining. "I want to keep it... I always wanted one of those in my room."

"But you don't even know what a pendulum clock is!" snapped Michael. "If it goes anywhere, it's in my room!"

"Out of the question!" Mother Moffet refuted. "Get that thought out of your minds! This eyesore in our house? It belongs in the garbage! End of discussion. Romeo. Come on! Do something" she prodded him. "Get rid of that horrific sight this instant. And for good, this time!"

"Get rid of it? Now? And how, pray tell me?"

"It's not my problem!" she snubbed. "You signed that wretched document, and now you'll get this hindrance out of our hair. Understood?"

"Alright... alright!" grumbled Romeo, halfheartedly. "I'll take care of it."

The moving plan, in broad lines, was designed in few minutes. Romeo and the children would leave the clock on the side of the road where the waste collectors could pick it up and take it to the city dump. The operation seemed simple, quick, and painless. Unfortunately, moving that heavy mass of gearwheels was anything but easy. That hellish clock weighed as much as a well-nourished elephant cub, and seemed determined to stay put. Only after rivers of sweat and a considerable back-ache, Romeo managed to take it to the prearranged location.

"It's been strenuous, but it looks like we made it!" said Romeo, satisfied of his victory, as he stretched his back and wiped the sweat from his forehead and neck. "Finally, now we can enjoy our dinner in peace."

The group returned home, chatting happily along the way. Michael was eager to tell his friends about the incredible adventure. He decided he would embellish the story by adding some ravenous beast, and a couple of fearsome CIA spies, to give his buddies some extra excitement.

"Wait 'till they hear about my struggle with a crocodile in the yard..." he said, gloating over the prospect. "I'll leave them with gaping mouths. They'll immediately elect me Divine Tetraman... supreme and absolute head of the whole galaxy!"

"Why not the whole universe?" teased Peter.

"And the universe shall be!" Michael pretended to be crowned, then waved to imaginary battlements filled with multiform planetary crowds. "From now on, you may call me His Universality!"

"His Universality..." said his sister, pulling his sleeve.

"Yes, miserable terrestrial. I'm listening."

"Your royal shoe just stepped in dog poo."

"Oh, cra..."

"Michael!" his mother called out from the kitchen. "You know I don't want to hear vulgarities in the house."

"But my basketball shoes are brand new!" Michael added, then placed a hand on his mouth to block other unseemly exclamations."

"So, dear, are you happy now?" Romeo asked, radiant, as he twirled like a ballet dancer towards his wife.

"I'll be happy only when I get rid of that obscenity!" she retorted.

"What obscenity?" he answered, perplexed.

"Are you talking about the clock?"

"No, Romeo! I'm talking about your tie," she responded with a poisonous glance, raising the knife she was using to cut the meat- loaf. "Of course I'm talking about the clock, airhead! What else?"

Romeo's brows knit together in apprehension.

"Only when you move it..." she continued, pointing the sharp knife toward the living room, "only then I'll be at peace!"

Mr. Moffet turned his head hesitantly, following the imaginary line traced by the kitchen knife. What he saw was not amusing at all. The long shadow of the clock was again resting comfortably on their Persian rug, precisely in the same place as before – not one inch to the left or to the right. All of a sudden, the knot on his tie became too tight for his large neck and beads of cold sweat formed on the tip of his long nose. Fighting the strenuous opposition of his legs, he dragged himself to the living room to have a definite confirmation of what his eyes had cruelly revealed.

"Yay! Wonderful!" said Kate, jumping for joy. "Pendulum is back!" She kept jumping and petting the object as if it were a puppy dog.

"Dad! Do you see what we see?" asked Peter, incredulously.

"No more questions and no more comments!" Romeo pleaded, as he nervously peeked out of the window to make sure there were no bikes nearby. "Most of all, don't tell your mother what happened! Am I clear?" He started to walk musingly around the clock, holding his hands behind his back. He had no explanation for this absurd situation but he knew one thing – he had to find a good solution, and he had to find it quickly.

"Michael!" An idea suddenly struck him. "Go to the garage and get the shovels! They're leaning against the wall, next to the hot water heater. And you, Peter, run and get the wheelbarrow and the gloves. It looks like our foe is tougher than we thought!"

After moving the bulky artifact to the back yard, they started to dig like crazy. This time, Romeo was sure their plan was foolproof. They would dig a hole in the ground, deep enough to hide that obstinate clock, and their woes would be finally and permanently over. He looked dreamingly over their fence, while the corners of his mouth rose to create a moronic smile. He was only few buckets of efforts away from their delicious stuffed meatloaf and their good old normality.

They dug without stopping, until the sky was filled with dark storm clouds. Behind them, they had piled up a substantial mountain of soil, including the plants and flowers his wife had grown and fostered with love for a good four months. His anxiety mounted again like a skittish horse. As soon as his "better" half noticed that brutal extraction, for him there would be no way of escape. Eleanor would serve him stale bread and muddy water for dinner and force him to sleep on the porch next to Meatball's bed for the rest of his life. He struggled to fight that miserable thought and concentrated on the difficult task ahead.

"Finally, we should be done!" he concluded, wiping his soiled face with his shirt's sleeve.

"Under five feet of soil you're not so cocky anymore, are you, no-good pendulum clock?" said Michael arrogantly, as he stuck the shovel in the ground.

"Won't Pendulum be too lonely down there?" asked Kate, almost in tears.

"Of course not!" her father comforted her. "He'll make new friends: earthworms, ants, moles..."

"But he doesn't have a blanket!" she sobbed. "He'll freeze to death!"

"On the contrary!" Romeo reassured her. "This is one of the advantages of being an object! They never get cold, hungry, thirsty, or sleepy. You'll see. He'll be just fine!"

"Yeah..." confirmed Michael, "... at least until the wood starts to rot because of the humidity and legions of hungry moths start feasting on it!"

"AAAAAHHHHH!" his sister screamed as she ran desperately toward home, dragging Clementine, her favorite doll, by a braid.

"Well done, Michael!" exclaimed Peter, disapprovingly. "Very well done!"

"Yes!" agreed Mr. Moffet, shaking the last few vines off his body. "Thank you for this necessary clarification!" He started to walk home, sadly looking at what had been, until a while earlier, a pretty residential garden.

"What did I say?" said Michael, defending himself, as he bit the tip of his thick gloves to take them off. "I just told her the truth. And what do you have against moths? Aren't they as nice as the other insects? This, I say, is discrimination. Pfff! Girls! Who understands them?" He shook his head disgruntled and then ran after the rest of the band. He didn't want to stay one more minute next to that ugly clock.

Eleanor was waiting for them in the living room, her arms crossed and her eyes squinting like the thinnest eye of a needle. She didn't seem at all pleased to see them. Romeo was afraid he might know why. Hiding shovels and gloves behind his back, he exchanged guilty looks with his sons.

"So? Who wants to give me an explanation?" she snapped. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

"Y-you're still talking about the clock, right?" said Romeo, buying some time.

"Romeo Aloysius! Don't push your luck! Now is not the right time!" she warned him, ready to explode.

"You've every right to be angry..." Romeo continued, trying to soften the situation. "I thought burying it was the best way to get rid of it forever. The flowers and plants will be back in their places tomorrow, I promise."

"It's true, mom!" Peter interjected, trying to defend his father. "It seems worse than it is. Tomorrow you won't notice the difference."

"Besides..." his brother added, "we had to put that weird contraption somewhere!"

"What in the world are you talking about?" asked Mrs. Moffet. "Have you all lost your minds?"

Romeo raised one eyebrow and looked at his sons, gobsmacked by her remarks.

"Aren't you mad because the garden is turned a little upside down?"

"There's nothing wrong with our garden, Romeo. It's too bad I can't say the same about you," she replied, switching on the outside light. "Go ahead and look... everything is perfectly fine. I knew I shouldn't have let you drink that glass of red wine on an empty stomach!"

"By the King's wig! It can't be! It's a nightmare!"

Romeo felt the room twirling around him like a top that's gone out of control. He pressed his forehead and nose to the window and stayed there, his mouth wide open.

Eleanor was right. There was nothing wrong with the garden – no sign of brutal uprooting, barbaric transplants and hours of wild shoveling. The plants, flowers, and hedges were well kept in their usual place. Everything was as intact and clean as ever.

"It happened again!" Romeo exclaimed, terrified. "It has done it again!"

"We should have covered the hole with cement!" said Michael, regretfully.

"It must be some sort of a curse!" Peter concluded. "There's no other explanation."

"Well then..." Mrs. Moffet kept talking, without giving too much weight to their nonsense, "...first of all, take your skulls off the window because you're getting it dirty. Second, and most important... what are you thinking of doing now? I'm sure you realize it's not going to be easy to move it. It'll take lots of hard work!"

"Again?" said Peter, discouraged. "But we're exhausted!"

"You have quite a nerve, kid!" roared his mother. "You're tired of what? Of doing nothing? Come on, lazy bones, go upstairs and get the clock!"

"Upstairs?" said Michael, surprised.

"Yes, another one of your father's bright ideas, I bet! Did you really think a pendulum clock in the storage room would go unnoticed? I'm wondering if you have any sense left in your head."

Romeo swallowed the harsh remark. No matter what he did or didn't do, to his wife he was always, as in this case, a good-for-nothing

"Come on! Bring that horrific gadget downstairs. Then we'll take it immediately to Mr. Tupperwell, the secondhand dealer. I'm sure he'll know what to do with it. Come on..." she continued, giving Peter a shove to get him off the floor. "Let's go! And don't try any of your tricks because this time I'll check everything you do."

With no opportunity to object, the three guys got up, tired and aching, to begrudgingly follow Mother Moffet's orders. Together, they climbed the narrow flight of Victorian-style stairs to collect the stubborn escapee.

Even this time, the rescue operation didn't go exactly as planned. The team had to spend a long time persuading Kate to interrupt her delicious picnic and let her "good friend Pendulum" go. She had absolutely no desire to free the little storage room where she had set up her party, and started an actual air war, throwing all kinds of furnishings towards the guys. Romeo counted a spoon, two teacups, a tray, a towel, a teapot, a couple of plates, some sugar cubes, a few cookies, and several slices of lemon.

Only when the ammunition ran out, and after an exhausting and unending negotiation, the three managed to obtain a peace treaty from their fearsome foe and to load the impenitent clock on the roof of the Mercedes.

"All aboard!" Romeo exclaimed, fending off the rain with his jacket.

"About time!" replied Eleanor, who had been brewing her anger for a while, sitting in the passenger seat. "I was afraid I'd get moldy in here."

The fifty-year old Mercedes Benz did its best not to disappoint the small family and allowed its trusted M110 double overhead cam engine to hum at the fifth try. It was going to be a short trip anyhow. The "Lost Time Shop" was only a few miles away from Crocks Pot Road. Traveling 25 miles per hour, with favorable wind and stoplights, the old German car arrived in just ten minutes.

Mr. Tupperwell, a perfect host, was waiting for them in front of his rickety cubbyhole with an open umbrella.

He wore his thick grey hair slicked back. For the occasion, he had put on his best pants, held by a worn-out burlap rope. Romeo thought the retailer had become increasingly more curved in the last few years – maybe because the ceiling of his small shop was so full of old junk that he had to bend his back all day long.

"Good evening, Mr. Tupperwell!" Romeo greeted him, cordially. "Thank you for staying up so long for us in this bad weather! We appreciate it very much."

"Don't even mention it! My door is always open for generous donations like yours," the old man replied, rubbing his hands as he looked at that huge, unexpected and especially free donation. "I must admit your call was quite a surprise. It's more and more difficult to receive these types of objects nowadays! People don't get rid of anything anymore. When they do, they always try to get something in return. Times are bad! Very bad." He stopped just a moment to pull up his pants that had sagged down almost as far as his knees. "Please come in. Welcome to my humble kingdom!"

More than a kingdom, it was – in Romeo's eyes – a dirty, crumbling rat hole, stuffed with the most useless and unsellable old junk. It was so full that Romeo could hardly believe there could be room for anything else. He had to change his mind. Within a few minutes, the old hunchback managed to find a place for their clock.

"There!" the man said proudly, as he if had just accomplished a memorable act. "The perfect place."

"Are you really, really sure?" asked Kate, doubtful. "I think he's a little crammed."

"Of course I'm sure!" the old man hurried to reply. "I can assure you, my fair lady, not even the smallest or oldest object has ever complained about my care. You have the word of August Tupperwell!" so he invited the kids to turn the crank on one side of the clock to wind it.

All of a sudden, a cold gush of wind blew through the shop and the lights went off for a few seconds. Then the clock started to tick.

"Nothing to worry about..." said the old man quickly. "It's just a short circuit, because of the weather."

"I'm not convinced," the girl insisted to her parents. "I'm afraid that if we leave Pendulum, he will think we have something against him."

"But we do!" replied Michael, offhand and sour as usual. "We've been trying to get it out of the house all afternoon! Are you a thickhead or what?"

Two large tears got ready to tumble down the girl's rosy and chubby cheeks.

"What Michael meant to say, dear..." Romeo hastened to say, scowling at his son, "is that Pendulum has appreciated all your care, but now it's time to say goodbye. We already have many clocks in the house and it's our duty to give this to someone less fortunate than we are. Don't you think?"

Michael tried to repress an uncontrollable burst of laughter. He thought of how fortunate the new owner would be. In fact, the next day, Mr. Tupperwell would consider himself so fortunate that he would go and thank them with a big club in his hand.

"Do you promise you'll treat him well and serve him a cup of tea from time to time?" Kate asked the old man.

"Most certainly, young lady!" the man promised, drawing a cross on his chest. "Every night I'll tell him a fairy tale to help him sleep, if this will make him more at ease," he added, winking.

"I just don't know how to thank you, Mr. Tupperwell!" said Eleanor, immediately regretting offering a handshake. "Believe me, you've taken a huge weight off our shoulders," she added, rushing to clean her hand with a handkerchief soaked in perfume.

"I'm always at your disposal, Mrs. Moffet!" he gratefully replied, turning around the "Open" sign that was hanging on the door.

"Mr. Tupperwell..." Romeo added quickly, as he was leaving the room, "just one last thing... I suggest you chain the clock... you know, just in case."

The man nodded, hiding his puzzlement. He didn't understand the need for such a suggestion, but decided he would accept any duty or obligation without saying a word. In fact, if they had asked him, he would have placed the clock on his only mattress. After all, he just received an extraordinary antique without paying a penny.

After a last, dutiful exchange of good-byes and thank-you's, the old merchant politely excused himself and returned behind his counter, bumping into a few objects along the way. Then he updated his inventory.

The Moffet family couldn't believe that interminable day had reached its end.

At home, everyone was glad to get back to the usual tasks. Eleanor quickly cleaned up the kitchen. The boys went to brush their teeth, each fighting, as they did every night, to be the first one to the sink. As usual, Romeo took out the garbage.

"Nothing better than the same, healthy, and tedious routine!" said Romeo as he walked upstairs where his wife was already wearing her thick grey flannel nightgown.

No more strange situations, shady characters, and unexplainable objects. He had seen enough for the rest of this life and one more. He only wanted loads of the most boring boredom and heaps of the most normal normality.

"Good night kids!" the parents wished from their bedroom. 

"Good night, Dad! Good night, Mom!" the children replied.

On 13 Crocks Pot Road, the lights finally went off.

Mr. Moffet stretched his best ear toward the ceiling to pick up any suspicious sound. As expected, the house was dark and quiet, with the exception of Meatball's subdued and regular breathing and the natural creaking of the wooden boards. He peacefully placed his head on his pillow and closed his eyes, certain that all danger had passed.

"You forgot to wish a good night to Pendulum!" cried Kate, breaking the newly gained silence with her small voice.

"Kate, stop it!" replied Peter, exhausted.

"Be quiet and let us sleep!" Michael scolded her.

"But Pendulum could be offended!" she whined.

"Then, tomorrow we'll call Mr. Tupperwell, and we'll ask him to give Pendulum our good night wishes every evening. Okay?" Mr. Moffet suggested, fighting his drowsiness.

"We don't have to wait until tomorrow..." the little girl said, excited. "We can wish him good night right now because..." she continued, jumping on her bed like a cricket.

"No! It can't be. Not again!" thought Romeo as he sat up quickly with fear in his eyes, feeling thousands of palpitations.

"...because Pendulum is back home!"